


wrapped up in rainbows

by blindmadness



Category: Wallflower Series - Lisa Kleypas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17146487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindmadness/pseuds/blindmadness
Summary: Something about Matthew Swift is beginning to look different to Daisy Bowman... but Matthew can never let Daisy know that he's been seeing differently ever since he first met her. (A soulmate AU.)





	wrapped up in rainbows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [followsrabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/followsrabbit/gifts).



> ...and then, of course, I couldn't resist writing this particular AU either. WHOOPS? 
> 
> I'm actually not sure which of these two romance novel fandoms we matched on, and it was a total delight to see such lovely prompts for both. As I said in my prior note, soulmate AUs and romance novels are two great tastes that taste great together, and adding a soulmate flavor to the particular glorious brand of tortured pining for this ship was just... [chef's kiss] so, so much fun.
> 
> I'm using a slightly looser take on soulmates here, given that Matthew's is more instantaneous and Daisy's is implied to happen more slowly (and I reference some other slight subversions from the other couples, too!); you can imagine that in this particular universe, you can identify your soulmate once you're ready to be with them. Matthew's been there since day one, but it takes Daisy longer to get to know him for who he really is and realize that he's the one for her, so while I didn't write too much further into this, I imagine that her shift to seeing full color happens gradually, almost unnoticeably (which, of course, makes it harder for ridiculous romantic Daisy to identify it as a soulmate thing!).
> 
> As with the other fic, I've mostly taken dialogue directly from canon here, while doing what I can to adapt the narration. Title is taken from something Matthew says about Daisy, because I couldn't resist. And finally, apologies for the slightly abrupt ending; it's hard to figure out where to stop an AU when most of the difference is in the premise, and much of the actual events of canon would just go down in exactly the same way! (Though maybe I'll write a coda of some kind one day? I had so, so much fun with this, and thank you again for allowing me to play with what is probably the most perfect match of AU and canon so much! <3 Happy Yuletide, again!)

It was undeniable that Hampshire in the spring was beautiful—the wide expanse of the fields, the profusion of flowers, the sense of the wilderness encroaching into the normal, orderly organization of English life. Even someone with no imagination could find plenty to dream about during a Hampshire spring, and Daisy Bowman’s problem had never been a lack of imagination.

Today, as she strode along a sunken road, she was picturing what it would be like to see the wet meadows she passed in full color, the true brilliance of the grass and the sky and the profusion of flowers.

She could imagine the colors, of course. She knew that what she was seeing now, the variations in shade and warmth and light, were but a pale imitation of what the colors truly looked like, and that once she found her soulmate, everything would burst into full, vivid color like nothing she’d ever seen before, like the very coming of spring itself. She had been impatient for it to happen for what felt like her entire life. She wanted it with every fiber of her being, so intensely that it felt monstrously unfair that she had not met him yet.

Maybe it was simply that it was difficult to find a man, or a relationship, that would match up with the ones she read in her books. She knew, of course, that finding a true soulmate was rare (never mind that it had happened to her sister and her two dearest friends), and surely it wouldn’t be quite as dramatic as it was in the stories (it had happened gradually for Lillian and Annabelle, after all; only Evie’s world had suddenly, dramatically turned to vivid color when Sebastian had risked his life for hers). She was willing to settle for less; she really was. But was it so wrong of her to wish for a higher caliber of man to even _settle_ for? Someone kind, interesting, and her own age, with no dramatic, terrible flaws to his character?

She hoped it wasn’t. After all, that was what she was coming to the well to wish for.

She could spy her destination now, the spring-fed well inhabited by a spirit who would grant your wish if you threw a pin into it. She set her bonnet gently on the ground and approached the hole, slipping her hand into her dress pocket to pull out a paper rack of pins.

“Well-Spirit,” she said, “since I’ve had such bad luck in finding the kind of husband I always thought I wanted, I’m leaving it up to you. He doesn’t have to be my soulmate. No bursts of color needed. No requirements, no conditions. What I wish for is simply… the right husband for me. I’m prepared to be open-minded.”

And after she’d tossed the pins in, requesting all of them to be credited toward the same wish, as she was standing with her eyes closed, concentrating—she heard a snap behind her, like the crunch of a foot on a twig.

Turning, Daisy saw the dark form a man coming towards her—only a few yards away. Startled, she found herself squinting a little, having trouble making out details of his form as he approached. The meadow suddenly seemed a little brighter—had the sun emerged from behind a cloud?

“Forgive me,” he said in a low voice as he saw her expression. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Oh, you didn’t frighten me,” Daisy said breezily, still trying to figure out exactly what was happening. Her eyes were almost hurting as she watched this man approach—he looked relaxed, his hands in his pockets—and while it was a reasonably bright day, she didn’t _think_ the sun had emerged to shine more strongly. So what could it be? “I was just a bit… surprised.”

“I arrived at the state a couple of hours ago,” he said. “They said you were out here walking.”

He was looking at Daisy as if he expected her to know him, and she thought he seemed familiar—even past whatever strange quality his face seemed to be taking on. “You’re a guest of Lord Westcliff’s?” she asked, trying to remember where she might know him from—and trying to stall for time until she could figure out what was happening. 

“Yes, Miss Bowman.”

He knew her name; Daisy’s confusion increased. He was so attractive—so vital, so forceful in his mere presence—she couldn’t imagine having forgotten him. His hair was dark, his skin appearing tanned, and his eyes seemed so bright—for a moment, looking into them actually dizzied Daisy. She had an impression of vivid blue, sky-blue, the blue of morning glories, so bright she could hardly stand it—but then she blinked, and the impression was gone. They simply appeared as simple blue eyes, perhaps a touch brighter than the sort one usually saw. 

Disconcerted, Daisy let her gaze slip to his other features—his elegantly styled suit, the broad set of his shoulders, his hair… clipped in an American style, she realized, as it hit her all of a sudden that his accent and scent—that fresh, clean smell of Bowman’s soap—were familiar, too.

“You,” she whispered in shock as she looked back into the unusually bright eyes of Matthew Swift.

 

There were few things that had shaped Matthew Swift’s life as profoundly as his origins—where he had come from, his first job and its disastrous fallout, his first steps into the new life he’d shaped for himself—but meeting Daisy Bowman had been one of them.

Because the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, he’d seen it: a glitter of brightness, a spark of color, unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He’d been unable to help himself from paying attention to her, trying to catch yet another glimpse of the spicy cinnamon color of her eyes, the contrast of the faint flush on her cheeks to the paleness of her skin, the shimmering pink of her dress. It was as if she’d come from an enchanted forest populated with mythical creatures; the extra indescribable quality that clung to her had made her seem unreal, or perhaps even more real than everything else around her.

And then she’d spoken, and those words—“I think we are hosting the most intelligent mice in New York!”—had caused Matthew’s world, for the first time, to burst into brilliant color, vivid and full and like nothing he'd ever seen before, and it had been almost unbearable to keep looking at Daisy, the source of it all. But equally impossible to look away from her, and in the years since, that had never stopped being true.

Matthew had heard, of course, the tales of soulmates, the rare couple whose gazes met and colors suddenly bloomed before them— true colors, the sort no one else could see in a muted world. But he had never believed them, and even after it happened for him, he still couldn’t bring himself to accept such a thing. It seemed absurd; fated loves, some sort of future it was impossible to avoid, the rejection of the any semblance of choice, after the new destiny he’d worked so hard to carve out for himself? No, far more likely was the possibility that he had simply wanted Daisy so much, so fiercely and endlessly, that it had forced the world to reveal its true nature to him, that the strength of his will had made the magic bloom. Because it seemed absurd that whatever force there was governing the universe, it would have planned for him to want this woman—wrong for him every way—so badly, and any sort of kind and loving higher power would never have intended Matthew for Daisy.

And it seemed clear, given how intensely she ignored him, how she seemed to look right past him whenever they crossed paths, that Daisy’s vision had not undergone the same dramatic change, and that her world remained in subdued rather than brilliant color.

Not that she ever seemed to need it. She was inventive enough to imagine the true colors she saw, romantic and creative and full of daydreams. When the world around Daisy Bowman didn’t fit her standards, she didn’t change her standards; she simply imagined a better world, and behaved as if that was the one she was living in instead. And it had always filled Matthew with an endless desire to be a part of it, even as he knew that such a thing could never happen.

It amazed Matthew that no one had ever guessed at his feelings—that Daisy had been unable to see it every time she looked at him—but it had also been a relief. Now, though, something had changed; she had looked at him differently. Stared at him, really, as if she’d been unable to believe what she was seeing.

Not that that had lasted long, he thought wryly. They had argued, of course—as was likely for the best, even though the sight of Daisy angry, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling with emotion, was far from a repulsive one. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from needling her about her wish for the perfect man—her soulmate—knowing that she must believe such things. And it was clear she did. Even if it hadn’t been exactly the sort of magical romantic idea that would appeal deeply to a soul such as hers, she seemed to believe that Lord Westcliff and her sister were a soulmate match.

Absurd to think it, of course. Matthew had met Westcliff, and it was impossible to imagine such a practical, self-controlled man indulging in a fantasy like that. More likely he had led Lillian to believe it, and she had managed to convince herself it was true… although Matthew had to admit that it wasn’t any easier to imagine practical, acerbic Lillian Bowman believing in soulmates, either. Maybe, against all odds, it _was_ true. Surely it was no less likely than the possibility that the two of them—the earl, blue-blooded as could be and more English than treacle tart, and the brash American heiress—had actually formed some sort of genuine connection, aided by nothing other than their emotions.

Better not to let himself believe such impossible things, though. Better to stop himself from thinking that any such incongruous match could be successful, because then he would start thinking about the way Daisy had looked at him—as if she was seeing him for the first time. Better for him not to start wondering whether she was seeing something _about_ him for the first time—the blue of his eyes, perhaps?—because he knew that it didn’t matter. None of it could change the fact that he and Daisy could never be together.

Better, he knew, for him to be the only one who regretted that fact. Better for him to be the only one whose world was brighter with her in it.


End file.
